Nicholas Vials: The Case Of Michael Vials

When Nicholas Vials returned to Doane, many asked about his health. "You look rather lively for someone who has spent a night at the hospital," Clyde joked, knowing full well the extent of Nicholas’s condition. It was his other classmates who seemed to take his note of absence at face value.

Clyde chose not to believe Nicholas, partly because of his hate for his antics, and partly because he was well aware of how Nicholas used his contacts to his aid. Clyde had made many complaints to the administration when he came to know that Nicholas had never been in the hospital wing despite notifying that he had been admitted. He was never taken seriously; his applications almost always went missing from the principal’s office, and he never got to hear a word of it. He had since given up on his pursuit of justice, even after being awarded the title of President.

"I am quite well, thank you, Clyde," replied Nicholas with a cold smirk.

Clyde shook his head, feigning a look of nonchalance when really he was disgusted. There was always a one-sided enmity between the two, unnoticed by Nicholas for the longest time. There was very little in common between the two roommates. Nicholas Vials was sitting in the same room as a result of his family's wealth, whereas Clyde had to pour his soul, mind, and motivations into making a place for himself here. To sit amongst these people, he had to fight his misfortunes from birth, and even then, he could not make much progress. When Nicholas casually insulted a teacher, they had to swallow their pride to invite his disrespect, which left Clyde wondering how small he actually was.

Nicholas saw, from the corner of his eye, Olaf signaling him. That was all he needed as he stood immediately. "Give me a few," he said as he slipped out of the room, taking calculated leaps up the stairs, following Olaf until he reached his own room.

It should not have bothered Clyde as much as it did. He was trying to get used to not being bothered by his antics, but the manner in which Nicholas excused himself from the crowd of people made Clyde feel a sudden rush. Nicholas had obviously gone upstairs to their room. He rarely ever visited anyone else's room—he had no need to.

There was a moment of hesitation before Clyde's fixation overcame his senses. There was no reason for him not to give his own room a visit. He stood up immediately, not even making the effort to make an excuse, and took quiet, careful steps—trying not to alert anyone. His mind raced with ideas of what things Nicholas could be up to or what he could be capable of. As he inched nearer, he could hear an echo. The stairs were dimly lit, the hum of chatter from each room and long hollow walls providing just enough cover for their discussion.

It seemed Nicholas had tracked down the man he needed to confront, arranging a meeting in his room on the edge of campus. Donald Miller shouted from the other side of the room, heavily thumping against the floor in protest.

"You didn’t tell me the whole story last time," Nicholas said, his tone low but sharp. "What exactly were you doing in this room that day?"

"Look, I told you everything I could," Donald lowered his voice. "I wasn’t there for long, and I didn’t—"

"Don’t give me that," Nicholas interrupted, his voice hardening. It sounded as though he splashed something against Donald, which made him gasp. "You’re leaving something out, and I know it."

Clyde burst into the room, his heart thrumming roughly against his ribcage in an effort to escape from his chest. There he was. Nicholas Vials. Once more stirring trouble.

Donald Miller had been tied to a chair, his face dripping with a liquid Clyde hoped was only water. His expression faltered with the ardor of someone who had seen a ghost. Donald, however, did not plead for his release because he knew Clyde could not grant it.

Nicholas cast Clyde a glance before looking at Olaf, who had gone pale. "I checked to see if the door was locked—" Olaf tried to reason, but Nicholas dismissed him.

"No matter," Nicholas said. "Lock it now," he ordered, and Olaf immediately did as told, hurrying Clyde inside before closing it shut and locking the bolt. Clyde felt as though he had entered a gathering where everyone cozied up against the fireplace instead of one where someone had been abducted.

Nicholas snapped at Donald, who looked at Clyde with self-pity. "He can't do you much good," Nicholas told him, grabbing Donald’s chin to make him look up.

The man sighed, finally lifting his gaze. His expression was conflicted, a mix of guilt and defensiveness. "Alright," he muttered, glancing around to make sure only Nicholas could hear. "It wasn’t my idea to go there. A professor asked me to."

Nicholas blinked, momentarily thrown off. "A professor?"

"I should not be saying this," Donald said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Dr. Martin. He’s in the anthropology department—and studies ancient artifacts and symbols. He told me to go to your place and retrieve something. Said it needed to be done on an urgent basis."

Nicholas’s brow furrowed. "What did he want you to take?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.

"An emblem," the man said, leaning back as if relieved to have finally said it. "I don’t know what it was for or why it was important. He just gave me a description and told me to get it. Martin gave me something to soothe my mind, and I have no recollection of what happened afterward. I do not know if I have the emblem or not. That’s all I know, I swear."

Nicholas stared at him, trying to piece this new information together. "Why didn’t you mention this before?"

"I was not supposed to tell. I didn’t think I would cause any damage. I was stoned," the man said defensively. "I wasn’t the only one eyeing your room. You’re… involved in things, Nicholas. Things I didn’t want to get mixed up in."

Nicholas’s hands tightened into fists under the table, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Where’s Dr. Martin now?"

The man shrugged. "I’m not sure. And it would be best if you stayed away from him."

Nicholas nodded stiffly, already planning his next move. "I don’t follow commands well," he said, moving away from the man, glancing around the room at the two boys who stared at him in utter confusion. Nicholas felt he owed Clyde an explanation, but he did not believe in explanations. What the eyes said was enough to weave a story.

That evening, he found himself standing outside his brother’s old place. The door swung open and shut like a flag waving in open air. The air felt colder here, as though one could tell a murder had taken place inside. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room, seeking only the eerie silence it could offer.